


Sisterly duties

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-17
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>(Prompt: Fem!Sherlock thinks she's in love with John Watson, and she asks her sister for advice.)</i></p><p>"So how was your sister?"</p><p>"Hmmm? Oh, fine. Annoying. Sends her best." She suppresses a smirk at the shudder John tries to hide; his fear of Myra is always amusing, if misguided. It's not like Myra is likely to harm the person she thinks she can con into making an honest woman of Sheridan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sisterly duties

_Have observed you may require assistance in some small matters. When and where would be convenient to meet? MH._

Sheridan, stop sulking. MH.

Give me a time and a place to meet or I'll tell Mummy you have a boyfriend. MH.

***

The silence that has fallen across the table is far too weighty for the slightly tacky restaurant Sheridan has chosen. She supposes Myra would dismiss this as melodramatic, but then Myra has always been a hypocrite like that. Her job necessitates it, possibly along with the ability to twirl things in a vaguely unsettling fashion and a tendency towards kidnapping as a way of saying 'hello, yes, you know my sister, don't you, how is she?'.

Sighing in a way that is _not at all_ petulant, she puts her phone away into her inside pocket and jumps in before the other woman can try and get the upper hand. "I do _not_ need assistance."

"Of course you do."

"And if I did, I don't think I'd be coming to you."

"I have been reliably informed it is my duty as your sister."

Sheridan suppresses an eyeroll with great difficulty at that, if only because Myra has _that look_ about her which says she'd find it far too amusing today, and Sheridan doesn't like to give her the satisfaction.

"You got put up to it by that secretary of yours, didn't you- what's her name this week? I can never keep up."

Myra ignores her, but the pointed twist of the umbrella she refuses to let go of encourages Sheridan to count that one as a point for her. The silence stretches on for a while again, not companionable in the slightest but familiar for that fact, and this time it's interrupted by her phone. She fishes it out again, ignoring Myra's pointed look as she glances at the screen. It's from John, she almost notes in disappointment. A murder would have been a nice excuse to leave.

"I hope I'm not _distracting_ you." There, they've progressed to the irritated-big-sister tone. Annoying, but it's one stage closer to Myra leaving.

_Out of milk._

She smirked at the poor man's undying optimism. _I prefer semi-skimmed thanks. SH._

"Not at all. Although, apparently I need to pick up milk. Vitally important. So if we could make this quick, that would be _lovely._"

"How very... domestic."

Another few seconds of holding on in vain to the pointed silence, and then Sheridan tosses the phone on the table, glaring as dismissively as she can manage. "Fine. Since you're not going to let this go, yes, it is domestic. It is painfully, disgustingly domestic. This does not mean that I need romantic advice from the woman whose idea of a good cover story for her private life skipped straight to 'widow'."

"But you do admit you need advice?"

"There is absolutely no need to sound so... _happy_."

"Nonsense. Mummy will be thrilled, she's always despaired of getting you married. And this... John seems like he might actually be able to put up with you for long enough to give up on getting rid of you by the time he realises what he's getting into."

"She despaired of _me? _More like she despaired of-"

"Anyway, have you told him yet?"

"Why bother asking questions you already know the answer to?"

"Very well. Do you _intend_ to tell him?"

Sheridan's response is to get her mobile back out, with an air that screams 'not even worth replying to' (she'd mostly found Uni useless, but this was a skill it had taught her to cherish). "Well. This _has_ been fun, Myra, but that milk won't buy itself."

They both stand up and give each other the once over. There's a waiter who looks like he's about to try and give them a bill, until Myra raises an eyebrow and he loses his nerve.

"_Do_ send John my best."

***

John just sighs when she comes back with baking soda and limes and a (stolen, but he really is optimistic, she doubts that crosses his mind) blood sample and nothing remotely lactose-related, and gets ready to go out himself. He mostly seems relieved the components for the inevitable experiment seem benign this time, though he probably wouldn't if he actually understood the experiment she was planning, Sheridan supposes.

"So how was your sister?"

"Hmmm? Oh, fine. Annoying. Sends her best." She suppresses a smirk at the shudder John tries to hide; his fear of Myra is always amusing, if misguided. It's not like Myra is likely to harm the person she thinks she can con into making an honest woman of Sheridan.

"Right."

He's dithering. Hovering, even, with the air of someone about to ask an inane personal question. Sheridan frowns and picks her violin up- she wants time to think, and he's putting her off. Sure enough the promise of her 'playing' (one of these days she'll show him she can actually play _music_ every now and again, just to see his face) gets him moving.

She counts his footsteps down the stairs until she's sure he's out the door (a little closer to limping than normal, he must be bored, well she knows the feeling), then puts the violin down and collapses over the sofa haphazardly. Annoying Myra might be, but the conversation had been too much of a challenge to be ignored. Which was deliberate, because Myra knows Sheridan ian't ever going to back down from challenging her sister.

It's cold, but she can't be bothered to get her dressing gown and just buttons her suit jacket up ineffectually. Hmm. John has forgotten his coat, come to think of it, though how he's managed that in this weather she can't fathom. (It'll be bad for his shoulder-)

Concern. Sheridan Holmes does not do _concern_, just like she doesn't do domesticity, and she really shouldn't be doing nice chick-flick-esque outings with her sister. She tries to wave it away as the boredom from a dearth of cases for a moment or two, but the problem with her ruthlessly efficient brain is that it can tell when it's being lied to.

The facts, then, the facts will help, they always do: she cares about John Watson. This is ludicrous, but she supposes there isn't another way to explain all the facts, so she'll stick with it for now.

She enjoys his _company_. Admittedly she mostly enjoys it in the sense that she enjoys dragging him around London after murderers and thieves and whatever else she finds interesting, which isn't what most people think of when they consider how to spend time around potential romantic partners, but it's more than she's ever done before.

He's already lasted three and a half times as long as her previous disaster of an attempt at a flat share, and she's caught him staring at her neck at least three times a week the entire time, and he does have that habit of giving up on potential dates at her beck and call. She's pretty sure that's the kind of thing people do because they're hoping for something out of it.

The logical outcome of this set of facts is mutual confession, she supposes.

Sheridan frowns, and glares at the wall, and wonders why for once in her life she doesn't seem to be fond of the logical option.

_Beep._

She's got a text.

_Same time next week? MH._

***

By the fourth meeting, Sheridan has all but given up on trying to distract Myra from the issue by way of insults, pointed questions and faked texts calling her away. Likewise the owners seem to have finally given up on getting either of them to pay.

They have _not_ given up on arguing, however.

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about. I treat John perfectly well."

"Yes, you just do things like leave severed digits in his bed to gauge his reaction."

Sheridan's eyes narrow at that. She makes a mental note to check the financial status of that couple next door- whether they've had any _windfalls_ recently, for instance.

"He was a soldier. He's seen worse." She rummages in her pocket for another nicotine patch, ignoring Myra's disdainful reaction when it's applied next to the first. (The hypocrite- Sheridan _saw_ her slipping gin in her tea as she came back from the bathroom, apparently out of sheer exasperation with regards to her younger sister. Sheridan is rather proud of that.) "I don't see what this has to do with anything."

"The 'was' is operative here."

Sheridan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'bugger off' into the dreadful coffee she's been plied with. Myra just raises an eyebrow.

"Well it's not as though he hasn't managed so far. I don't see why I should change anything at this stage."

The eyebrow stays raised. "Oh, and you could maybe try and eat a little more."

"I suppose you'd rather I had your figure. Then it wouldn't be so noticeable by contrast, I suppose. How _is_ the diet going by the way?"

"It's _fine._ Stop deflecting."

"You've just been getting all this 'advice' from that assistant, haven't you."

There's a pause.

"_She's_ probably been reading it in crappy women's magazines, you know."

Myra simply sniffs and downs the rest of her tea.

***

"You've been seeing a lot of your sister recently."

Sheridan doesn't bother answering remarks this obvious, and just continues typing.

"...Is it for a case?" _Worried at the possibility. Probably just considering whether I might have taken one without him._

"No."

"So you just decided to start dropping in for social visits." John sounds as dubious as he should at such a ridiculous idea, which partly negates the fact that he thought to raise it in the first place. But only because she's feeling generous.

"The other way around."

"Does this mean she's decided to start talking to you instead of spying on us?" He gives a slight emphasis on _us_, clearly hoping that Myra has decided to let him wriggle out of the rivalry.

"No, it means she's decided being my sister means torturing me face to face instead."

John's eyes flick to his phone for a moment, his semi-estranged _sister's_ phone, and she realises this might be a good time to change the topic if she doesn't want to put her foot in her mouth. Then she realises this means she suddenly gives a damn about the location of her foot in relation to her mouth and she comes very close to wishing she'd never met John Watson.

It's not a thought Sheridan appreciates. She stands abruptly. "Come on."

"Hm?"

"We need to go shopping, you said earlier," she explains patiently, pulling her coat on. _Treat him better,_ echoes in her mind. _Yes, it's dull, but engaging with people generally has some little social purpose._

"...Wait, you're coming?" He's eyeing her suspiciously, as well as the laptop she's just closed. Presumably he's expecting her to have agreed to meet someone interestingly violent, or some such nonsense.

"Obviously." Sheridan just tosses his coat at him rather than go to all the bother of contradicting him.

_Beep._

Another text.

_By this point I'm going to tell you to just get on with it already before he talks himself out of it. Also, brush your hair for once. MH._

John is understandably confused about her electing to leave her phone behind, but she assures him it's safer for everyone this way.

***

In the morning, Sheridan tries very hard to be pissed off that she now feels like she owes her sister something and doesn't quite succeed, possibly because she's still aching nicely from last night. John is still asleep next to her, because John seems to spend half his _life_ asleep without even noticing it, just like the rest of the human race.

She sits up abruptly and starts looking for her phone. Normally this would be an easy task, except that her routine was rather thoroughly disrupted last night and it's not on the pile of clutter that passes for a bedside table in her room like it normally is. She's vaguely annoyed at John for a few moments for causing this, until he starts waking up and she sees he's just been sleeping on it. It's left a mark in his cheek, she notes as she retrieves it and starts typing. (And if her fingers trace it for a moment, it's far too early for him to notice.)

"Mmph?"

"Morning."

"Whass' the-" he pauses as he peers at the clock. It seems to startle him out of slurring, which is a good thing to remember if it ever annoys her. "It's... six AM."

"You're getting better at this deduction thing, you know."

"Stop being so awake. It's annoying this early. It's _six AM._"

She just rolls her eyes and snaps the phone shut, texts sent (_You can stop nagging now. SH._ and then _Do *not* tell Mother. SH._), before standing up. Predictably, he immediately looks away as she looks for something to wear, and she smirks. "It's also too early to have an awkward morning after. Go back to sleep, John, we can do this later."

He sneaks another look before rolling back over.

_Beep._

_Well done. MH._

Looking back on John's ridiculous, impossible, tired, worn, sleeping, brilliant form, she privately agrees. Not that she'll ever admit it aloud.


End file.
